

PS 3503 
.R54 P6 









POEMS 

BY 

BESSIE E. BRIGGS 

MARION, INDIANA 


PUBLISHED BY 
THE MARION TRIBUNE,CO. 
MARION, INDIANA 




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Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1908, by A. B.. in the office 
of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 




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PREFACE. 


D EEP in the heart and iln the soul, lie the innermost 
thoughts, and all that is beautiful, tender and sweet 
comes from that hidden fount. 

There are some who express those emotions in music, 
who thrill the listener with the power and wonder of their 
magic; but it is the soul, the yearning, the tenderness, the 
love that makes the music a living and powerful medium 
to express those thoughts to others. 

Then there are those who express the emotions of the 
heart by beautiful sentiments given to the world in writ¬ 
ing, thoughts that will live forever. 

To live above the world of gain and strife and envy, 
to live in a world of one’s own, 'peopled with the images 
of love and joy, poetry and music, is indeed a life worth 
living. To radiate these qualities until the world beholds 
in you the embodiment of your beautiful thoughts: this is 
an ambition worthy of a man or woman. 

“Thoughts that lie too deep for words;” I cannot ex¬ 
press them as 1 would like, but it is the author’s wish to 
write something that will uplift and elevate, that will 
soothe and comfort, that will be worth while. 

She knows there will be those whose hearts will re¬ 
spond to hers in the effort to express in verse or prose 
the emotions and thoughts of the soul. 

She is sincerely grateful to all who have aided her in 
the least, and hopes that as she grows more and more like 
the ideal she has tried to reveal, she will be more able to 
embody those thoughts in beautiful form, and to give to her 
friends a more finished and matured work. 

Sincerely, 

THE AUTHOR. 


TWILIGHT. 


S WEETLY and softly the bell 
Rings its last faint chime, 
Gentle the charm of its spell, 

Pure its note sublime. 

The solemn hush of ev’ning, 

So silent, so still, 

Above, the bright stars beaming, 
And the vale and hill. 

In golden splendor lying, 

While a bird’s sweet trill, 

And the clear brook’s low sighing 
Through my soul doth thrill. 

Beautiful hours of twilight, 

My soul forgetting 
All the sorrow of its night, 

And vain regretting, 

Still finds in thee the glory 
Of the soul’s fond dream, 

And stills the heart’s sad story, 
With the Spirit’s gleam. 

Though the day may be dreary, 

In the Twilight hours, 

I dwell, and ne’er am weary, 

In fair Dreamland’s bowers. 

And there I build the mansions 
Of Hope I ever see, 

The lovely Dreamland mansions, 
All of life to me. 

There I hear the Spirit’s voice, 

“I will lead aright, 

I will make thy heart rejoice. 

And thy path more bright.” 


LOVE 


T HROUGH all the dim dark paths of life, 
Through all the sorrow and the strife, 
There shines a light down from above, 

The Life, the Light, the Truth of Love, 

Love is the ruler of our hearts, 

It heals the tempter’s fiery darts, 

It soothes our woes, and lulls our care, 

For Love and God are ev’rywhere. 

Deep in the recess of our soul, 

Love’s billows like a tempest roll, 

And flood our lives with heavenly light, 
That o’er us sheds its luster bright. 

Through all the world of vain regret, 

The love we never can forget 
Burns in our hearts, and stills the pain, 

And makes us happy once again. 

What if the world be proud and cold. 

What if we suffer griefs untold, 

With One we love, the pain and care, 
Become a haven bright and fair. 

No thought of self, no worldly pride, 

Can in the realm of Love abide, 

For precious are the golden hours, 

That glide along in Love’s fair bowers. 

And there it dwells till to our rest, 

God calls us to his mansions blest, 

And when this earthly life shall cease, 

It dwells with Him at Home in peace. 


T1IE FOUR O’CLOCK 


T HE lover strolled through woodland green, 
And spied a Four O’clock. 

He plucked the flower and musing said, 

“She loves or loves me not.” 

He blew the feath’ry flakes in air, 

And all were blown away. 

“She loves,” he smiled. “I’ll keep the flower, 
And try my fate today.” 

He won the hand of maiden fair, 

And oft in after years, 

He told her of the Four O’clock, 

And of his hopes and fears. 

Of all his life, most treasured is 

That happy, golden hour, , 

And in a little casket lies 

The withered, broken flower. 


V 



Upon the sleeping landscape rested the golden bright¬ 
ness of the summer moon. The brook rippled and stirred, 
the wind sighed lightly through the green leaves, and all 
nature was hushed. Silence lay upon the distant hill and 
the neighboring valley, save for the far away call of the 
whip-poor-will, and the music of the air; music unheard by 
the human ear, yet which thrills and moves the invisible 
ear of the soul with melodies divine. 


“MOTHER, HOME AND HEAYEN.” 


M OTHER, Home and Heaven!” The sweetest words 
that ever mortal tongue could speak, fraught with 
the deepest meaning, and the holiest thoughts! 

Within the Home there reigned the deepest sorrow and 
distress. God pity the Mother as she bends over the life¬ 
less form of the little child, her hope and joy. In happier 
days the Mother held her darling to her breast and a smile 
of pride and rapture hovered about the sweet lips. God 
had given this beautiful child, and the Home was com¬ 
plete. 

But He in his wisdom saw )fit to take her to himself, 
and the Home was broken. But even as she clasps the 
lifeless clay to her heart, in speechless agony, a sweet 
voice whispers to her soul; the clouds of darkness roll 
away and Heaven breaks upon her view, she clasps once 
more the baby hand, she smiles into her answering eyes, 
for God has given that which he had taken away, and in 
Heaven, in the land of Harmony, they meet to never part. 


WHERE THE WOODBINE TWINETH 


5 rp WAS where the woodbine twineth, 
A And skies were deepest blue, 
Where stars more brightly shineth, 

You promised you’d be true. 

’Twas where the bubbling fountain, 

Sent forth its little stream, 

’Twas where the snow-capped mountain, 
In distant moonlight gleamed. 

‘Twas where the flowers were sweetest, 
The breath of their perfume, 

On the light breeze came to greet us, 
You said you’d wed me soon. 

’Twas there I kissed and held you, 

Close to my throbbing heart, 

’Twas there, my love, I told you, 

That we should never part. 

’Twas where the woodbine twineth, 

And skies were deepest blue, 

Where the moon more brightly shineth, 
We vowed those vows so true 

That bound our hearts forever, 

With bonds of peace and love, 

While stars in glory ever, 

Were smiling from above. 

’Tis there we stroll this ev’ning, 

And speak of days long past, 

Magic was round us weaving 
Love that shall ever last. 

Though fades the day, and twilight 
Falls o’er our downward way, 

The Star of Love forever bright 
Shall never fade away. 


So where the woodbine twineth, 

And all the world is fair, 

And the light about us shineth, 

We’ll cast away our care. 

And tread the silv’ry pathway 
Of glory or of tears, 

With Love to crown Life’s waning day, 
Through all the coming years. 



To be a friend means a great deal. It means more than 
smiles and complimentary words; it means more than to 
be a participator in one’s abundance, it means the help¬ 
ing hand, the cheery smile when adversity overtakes the 
man, the strong friendship that will lift him up and start 
him anew on the pathway of life. 



As the sun breaking through the clouds casts a glory 
and brightness over the world, so a loving deed, a kindly 
smile, a helping hand, has often cheered the anguish of a 
broken heart or despairing pilgrim, and caused his life to 
glow with the brightness of love and hope. 


THE CROSS 


C OME take the cross, and follow me, 

The blessed Master said, 

That thou may pure and Christlike be, 
’Twas for thy sins I bled. 

; 

Dear one, what matters pomp and pride, 
Or aught the world can give, 

In the shadow of the cross abide, 

Come take that cross and live. 

The world is but a passing dream, 

Its brightness fades away, 

But from the cross a radiant gleam 
Will light thy weary way. 

Thy heart may bleed, mine bled for thee, 
No pain, no grief, no care, 

But I will bear, will bear with thee, 

My love is ev’rywhere. 

O weary one, whose heart alone, 

Doth break in silent woe, 

O wand’rer sad, without a home, 

The cross, the cross doth glow. 

With light celestial, ’tis for thee, 

For peace and joy hnd love, 

Yea, tender love, love full and free 
Is showered from above. 

Far from earth’s strife, Christ’s gentle face, 
In suffTing agony, 

Doth point the way above the waste, 

To the cross of Calvary. 

And gazing on that face sublime, 

Our selfish, worldly pride, 

Must melt away, throughout all time, 

And in his love abide. 


For 0 the work we have to do, 

Nor count it pain or loss, 

To follow our dear Master true. 

And thus uplift the cross. 

And when about us falls the night, 
And this frail casket dies, 

From Calvary’s cross, a glowing light, 
Will lead to Paradise. 


$ 


Christ said, “I was sick and ye visited me not, hungry, 
and ye gave me no meat.” 

Let us watch that this rebuke does not fall upon us. Not 
only are there those hungering for the literal bread and 
meat, but there are many starving for the bread of life— 
love and kindness. Let us give it to those in the prison of 
sorrow and loneliness. 



Make the most of living, let each day be a witness in 
the calendar of time to some deed of unselfishness and 
love. 


IT IS YOU, MY DEAIl, ’TIS YOU. 


HE sky is fair, the seas are blue, 



A But it is you, my clear, ’tis you, 

In the sunshine and the air, 

Brings such a gladness ev’rywhere 

And it is you, my dear, ’tis you, 

The summer flowers wet with dew, 
Smile into my face and say, 

Ev’ry morning on my way. 

The birds are singing sweet and clear, 
Their message, dear, I bend to hear, 

In their notes, I hear, ’tis true, 

“It is you, my dear,’ ’tis you.” 

The gentle breeze that stirs the leaves, 
Oft on the dear old homestead trees, 
Whispers that I’ll never rue, 

That ’tis you, my dear, ’tis you. 

My heart in accents sweet and low, 
Like music on the zephyrs flow, 

Tells of love steadfast and true, 

All for you, my dear, for you. 


WINTER, 


H OW beautiful, how wonderful is Winter! Opposed to 
the grace and queenliness of summer is the majesty 
and kingliness of winter. 

Can anything surpass the glory of an ideal winter day, 
when all Nature is enveloped in a mantle of snow, when 
familiar objects take on weird and fantastic shapes, when 
every shrub, leaf and bough sparkles with its covering of 
snow gems? 

How much pity should we feel for those who live in 
summer lands, who never experience the delicious joy of 
a winter day! To feel the crisp, cold air against one’s 
cheek, to feel the warm blood tingling through the veins, 
to thrill with the awed hush of Nature; then to hear 
the silence broken by the faint sound of sleigh bells, the 
stir of awakening life and happy voices! 

And then the snow storm! Were ever gems so beau¬ 
tiful as the snowflakes with their many shapes and forms 
glittering and sparkling like so many diamonds? To watch 
the feathry flakes fall as each tiny messenger comes to 
joint the rest! Messengers? Yes, for does not God send 
them, and as each snow drop has its part to do in form¬ 
ing the winding sheet of snow, so we each and everyone 
have our place and work to do in making up the world. 

Winter! Yes, ’tis part of the harmonious whole, and 
as one of the most beautiful of the seasons, thrills and in¬ 
spires us to greater things, and, as part of God’s great cre¬ 
ation, we bow before Him and worship Him who made all 
things, and saw that they were good. 


MOTHER. 


M OTHER dear has eyes so tender, 
And so sweet and kind, 
Mothers like my mother dearest 
Would be hard to find. 

Silv’ry is her voice so gentle, 

Speaking words of love, 

Messages of joy and comfort, 

Coming from above. 

Bright’ning ev’ry weary pathway, 
With sweet words of cheer, 

Helping on each fainting brother, 

Doth my mother dear. 

Telling that our God is mighty, 

And His love so dear, 

Lifteth us from out the shadows 
Of this world so drear. 

That His peace is ever with us, 

And His arms of might, 

Ever ’round us, keep us safely, 

From the earth’s dark night. 

Sweet assurance, God is with us, 

Fear not storm or wave, 

Love is leading o’er the billows, 

And his power can save. 

Life is love, and hope is cheering, 

All that mourn and weep, 

For the angels of his presence, 

Smooth the pathway steep. 

And at last, behold the morning, 
Radiant, bright and fair, 

Pain and woe forever silenced, 

Past all grief and care. 


Happy he who helps another, 
Lab’ring in the night, 

Bids him cast aside the fetters, 
And step in the light. 

Sees the joy of that dear brother, 
Sees the Truth again, 

Raising up that patient sufferer 
From his couch of pain. 

Blessed work, my mother dearest, 
May God bless your way, 
Leading you forever upward 
To the perfect day. 

Gentle spirit, blessing ever, 

All that sorrow here, 

Love divine, enfold and shelter 
My sweet mother dear. 



A sweet dis position overflowing with love and cheer¬ 
fulness is like that country sought by the children of Is¬ 
rael—“A land overflowing with milk and honey.” 



Love to the heart is like water to the thirsty. It is 
“a well of water springing up into everlasting life.’ 


SUMMER. 


S UMMER has come, sing and rejoice, 

For all the world is gay, 

Let gladness reign from shore to shore, 
And chase the clouds away. 

Summer has come, each leaf and flower, 
Tell of the balmy days, 

When love and joy shall reign supreme, 
And Nature sing her lays. 

i 

They tell of hidden nooks and bowers, 
Close by the flowing stream, 

Where ’neath the shade of spreading trees 
Lovers sit and dream. 

The robin sings his happy song, 

Hopping from bough to bough, 

What does he say, “If you’d be gay, 

The time is here and now.” 

“For see the grass is fresh and green, 

And trees in summer dress, 

And what’s beneath the sun warmed sod, 

I wonder can you guess.” 

Roses, lilacs and lilies too, 

Nodding their heads at me, 

Come and go to the cool, green woods, 
And have a jubilee. 



GRANDMA’S CHAIR 


H OW lonely seems the dear old home, 
Since Grandma’s chair no more 
Beside the fireside has its place, 

The cheerful pin-knot’s roar 

Seems sad since Grandma went away, 
And left her vacant chair, 

For one is missing and her loss 
Brings sorrow ev’rywhere. 

Her dear sweet face, and form we see 
In loving memory, 

Beside the fireplace in her chair, 

As she was wont to be. 

Her dainty cap on silvered hair, 

Her apron smooth and white, 

Her glasses on her forehead fair, 

Her eyes so full of light. 

Her hands could never idle be, 

But found a task to do, 

Of Love for those to her most dear, 

For those in sorrow too. 

The poor within our little town, 

Her gifts and love had known, 

And sadly grieved with tears her loss, 
When Grandma dear went home. 

How often when in pain or grief, 

We went to Grandma’s chair! 

And all our childish woe and cares, 
Found loving solace there. 

Sweet, loving spirit, how we yearn, 

To see her face once more, 

To see her in the dear old chair, 

As in the days of yore. 


The vacant chair, ah well, ah well, 

We must not sigh and weep, 

The angels took our loved one Home, 
And safely will they keep 

Our Grandma dear, and some sweet day 
Where all is bright and fair, 

When all the clouds have rolled away, 
Upon the golden stair 

We’ll meet her there to never part, 

For in that land above, 

No vacant chairs, no tears there’ll be 
For all is peace and love. 



Hope is a ray of God’s loving kindness, shining thro* 
the night of sin and sorrow, like the sun thro’ mist and 
darkness. 



The face is an index to the soul. It cannot be truly 
lovely unless beautiful thoughts are reflected in it. 


A DREAM. 


I LOVED my god, the god of gold, 

For many gods had I, 

Nor ever thought of the time to come, 
The time when I must die. 

The god of pleasure I adored, 

I sold my soul to him. 

Nor ever dreamed of the day when age 
My bright young eyes would dim. 

I loved my glass and gaming room, 

My rig and horses fine, • 

I loved the world and praise of men, 

Nor thought of another time. 

I never slew my fellowman, 

Nor took his goods away, 

Myself deemed good as men should go, 
Nor thought to change my way. 

One stormy night I fell asleep, 

A vision came to me, 

Myself in the realm of light I found, 

Of God’s eternity. 

Before mine eyes, I saw the world, 

With all its woe and care, 

Myself a careless reckless man, 

With burdens none to bear. 

Though others bowed beneath the load, 
My selfish eyes saw not, 

Nor cared that they were sore oppressed, 
Nor sought to share their lot. 

And then I saw the heav’nly land, 

In all its beauty fair, 

And none but the pure and holy, 

Might find a haven there. 


I ne’er had wronged my fellow man, 
But Death the sentence won. 

Because alas, through many years, 

The things I left UNDONE. 

I felt the gulf closo round me, 

I felt my deep despair, 

Then woke to light and life once more, 
The flowers and balmy air. 

And my idle gods put from me, 

The higher life I sought, 

For the dream of grief and darkness 
My better self has brought. 

For I hope when time is over, 

And the crown of life is won, 

Not to hear the*mournful verdict, 

‘The things you left UNDONE.” 

But to know some heart is lighter, 

A joy I’ll hold most dear, 

That I made this world seem brighter, 
To some who journeyed here. 



Begin in the golden morning, strive in the brilliant 
noon, work in the mellow afternoon, rest in the silvery 
evening. 


THE TWO PATHS 


1 WAS aroused from my reverie by a sweet strain of mu¬ 
sic and gazing upward, I beheld a wonderful vision. 
Before me lay two paths. One was rugged and steep, 
the other strewn with flowers and overshadowed by green 
trees. Before the rugged path, there stood a lady clad in a 
snowy garment with a star on her forehead. Her face was 
pure and sweet, and in her hand she held a scepter. 

“I am Truth,” said the gentle voice, “follow me. The 
road is rough and narrow, but it leads to endless joy.” 

The flowery path was guarded by a woman of dazzling 
beauty. She was clad in cloth of gold and silver with 
snowy neck and arms bare. She wore a crown of red roses 
and glittering jewels were fashioned in the rich folds of 
her costly dress. She smiled at me, a glorious smile, and 
her rich voice rang out full and clear. 

“I am the goddess of mirth. Ah! See the pleasures 
in store for you. The birds, the flowers, the trees, no 
struggles, no sorrow, and I will be your guide. Follow 
me!” 

A ,sweet strain of music floated out upon the air. I 
heard the warning voice of Truth, but heeded not, for the 
goddess was beckoning me to realms of bliss. I followed. 
She led me through enchanting parks and gardens, through 
fresh green woods, by the side of rippling streams. 

“Ah,” thought I, “how foolish I should have been to 
have chosen the rocky road.” 

But bye and bye the wind blew colder, the sky dark¬ 
ened, and the glittering jewels of the goddess faded int the 
night. The storm clouds gathered, the gardens and the 
woods vanished away, and I found myself upon a desolate 
hill before a yawning precipice. 

The beautiful woman, now faded and old, said in a 
hollow, death-like voice, “Behold your fate! Reap what 
you have sown. You chose the downward path, and now 
farewell.” 

She faded into the mist and darkness, heeding not my 
agonized appeal, and I found myself alone, alone in the 
wilderness of woe and desolation. 

I sank down despairing, the storm gathered round me, 
the thunder crashed and the earth shook. At last I wept. 


I called upon the name of God, and suddenly there ap¬ 
peared before me two figures clad in white robes. 

“Thou canst yet tread the pathway of Truth,” said 
Hope, “but dreary will be thy return from the path of 
Falsehood.” 

“And thou must have Patience,” said the other, “to 
overcome that which thou hast sown.’ 

They took my hand, and slowly I retrod the pathway 
which I had chosen. But there were barriers to cross 
which I had raised—of selfishness, pride, hate and self- 
will. Many were the days and weary before these walls 
could vanish, melted only by tears of penitence and deeds 
of love and unselfishness. 

At last, my bleeding footsteps neared the goal, and 
worn and weary, but pure and humble at last, my pride 
broken, and my heart softened, I reverently touched the 
hand of Truth, who led me up the rocky way. The Star 
upon her forehead shown brighter and brighter as she led 
me upward, and at last, faint and weary, I heard the sound 
of voices: I gazed upon the Eternal City, and a great mul¬ 
titude came to meet me, singing and rejoicing for the 
Wanderer who had come Home. 

THE END. 



Be happy while you may, 
It is not always day, 

Yet darkness flees away, 
Before a smile. 



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BENEATH TIIE LIGHT OF THE STARS 


I SIT in my study dreaming, 

My dearest love, of thee, 

Of thee, sweetheart, in other lands, 

Over the deep blue sea. 

Before me, I see the garden, 

In all its beauty rare, 

A rose-balmed Paradise of light, 

And see my darling there. 

The moonbeams fall upon her hair 
In rippling, golden bars, 

And her face is fair and lovely, 

Beneath the light of the stars. 

Twas there she vowed her love to me, 
Sealed by a holy kiss, 

Two hearts were bound forevermore, 

Two souls were filled with bliss. 

And now, dear heart, I dream of thee, 
Thro’ lonely dreary hours, 

And long for thee and the garden, 

Beneath the light of the stars. 

But tho’ the ocean roll between, 

My love will faithful be, 

For naught but Death in all its gloom 
Can sever thee and me. 

And some sweet day in the garden, 

With gladness and the flowers, 

We’ll vow our love once more, sweetheart, 
Beneath the light of the stars. 


THE DAMN OF HOPE. 


’Tis early morn, the dawn hath gleamed 
Deep with a promise in my soul, 

That thou art true, and I have dreamed 
Not vainly of the joys that roll 
Like billows o’er my weary way, 

That lift and make the heart more strong, 
That charm and soothe all care away, 

And make of life one glad sweet song. 

I watch the first faint break of day, 

It softly steals upon the earth, 

The night before it flees away, 

And leaves the world to joy and mirth. 

So with my heart. The dawn hath come, 
And doubt and fear no longer reign, 

For thou art mine, the race is run, 

And all my sorrow, grief and pain 
Must vanish like the mist and rain 
Before the sun’s bright, cheerful ray, 

And peace and love shall not in vain 
Dissolve the ev’ning shadow gray. 


LOVE’S EMBLEM, 


R OSES bloomed about her window, 
And within I knew, 

One I loved was sweetly dreaming 
Of some lover true. 

Did she love me, this I wondered, 

As I lingered there, 

Many sought the hand and fortune 
Of this maiden fair. 

Oft I wandered, hoping, fearing, 
Haunted by a smile, 

But she was so far above me, 

Was it worth the while? 

I would play to her so softly 
Some old fashioned tune, 

Eyes so bright may smile upon me, 
Cheering doubt and gloom. 

Songs of tender love I sang her, 

But the silence deep, 

Answered only, not a tremor 
Broke the world’s deep sleep. 

Once again I sang and listened, 

Through the depths of night 
Stole a white hand through the window, 
Ancf her fingers light 

Plucked a rose and from the casing 
Fell this blossom sweet. 

Stillness reigned, no other token 
Came my heart to greet. 

This was all, but dear the message, 

For what flower that blows, 

Is so fair for Love’s sweet emblem, 

As the sumer rose? 


BOAT RIDING—A SONG 


O VER the water merrily, 

Singing a happy song, 

The hours glide hy without a sigh, 

Until the break of morn. 

Moonlight on the river dancing, 

Waves of silver and gold, 

The waters gleam, the glowing stream, 
Shines with a light untold. 

% 

The smooth boat glides with dip of oars, 
And nature solemn, still 
Smiles from the stars, their golden bars 
Cover the vale and hill. 

So does our life glide merrily, 

Over the sea of time. 

While stars of love, down from above 
About us ever shine. 

And waves are smooth or tempest tossed, 
As we are false or true, 

With days all bright, ’twill be all right, 

It all depends on you. 


THINE EYES. 


T HINE eyes, my love, are as the sea, 
Their depths of blue, 

Yet like the stars they shine on me, 

With light so true. 

Thy wondrous eyes! They speak of joy, 
And mirthful smile, 

Or gazing in their tenderness, 

The hours beguile. 

Thine eyes speak worlds of pain and grief, 
Or hope and peace, 

The heart’s deep secrets in their depths, 
Have found release. 

Thy loving eyes, so pure and sweet, 

My dear, I see, 

That thro’ the endless ages thou 
Will constant be. 


JUI 32 1908 
















